


First of the Season

by Argyle



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-16
Updated: 2004-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two hobbits taste the fruits of a summer afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First of the Season

“Are you having any luck with this, Pip?” Merry frowned, biting his lip and shifting his toes against the jagged sweep of gravel that lay beneath him.

“Oh, _ooh_.”

“Yes?”

“Almost have it, there -- _oh_.”

“Well? Pippin? My hands are beginning to loose their feeling.”

“Oh yes,” Pippin continued, his voice quickening with the mingled strain of breath and mirth. “Mmm.”

“Do you see any?”

“Of course, Merry. I’m always right about this sort of thing -- these are the first of the season, I’m sure.”

“Well, come on,” Merry chuckled as he moved his hands against Pippin’s feet, his own elbows pressing into the sharply jutting stone of the ledge. “I’m not going to be able to hold you like this forever, you know.”

“Oh? I can’t imagine why not.”

Merry leaned forward, his frame shaking with laughter as he saw Pippin’s ruddy, inverted face swaying before the raspberry bush. The extensive growth of leaves and bright berries clung to the soil and the damp, sloping face of rock. Sunlight, scattered by the boughs above, caught in Merry’s eyes and he fought the urge to raise a palm to wipe away the beads of sweat that had formed across his brow. His mouth curled with a certain satisfaction as he watched Pippin carefully work his fingers into the depths of the bush, though he now groaned as he saw that more berries were landing between the other’s lips than within the leather pouch at Pippin’s side.

“These are, without a doubt, the _finest_ raspberries I’ve ever had. In fact -- ouf!”

With a grin, Merry lightly loosened his grasp on Pippin’s ankles, his hands sliding to heels and his fingers spread across the rough skin of Pippin’s soles. “Hey!” he cried, “I’ve a good mind to let you go right now.”

Pippin laughed delightedly, his voice cracking as he swung an arm towards Merry, the tiny thorns of the bush swiftly scraping the back of his hand. “Merry! Okay, just a moment!”

“Eh! Get on with it, Pip.”

Smiling, Pippin nodded as he reached into the bush once more, his hair falling back from his forehead in delicate curls. He paused only to glance with anticipation toward Merry, a gleam escaping from the crease of his eyes as he dropped the ripe berries into the pouch.

At last he raised the tips of his fingers to his mouth, lips parting appreciatively as he tasted the lingering flavor. “Alright Merry, that’ll do. Help me up,” he said, his forehead creasing with thought.

“Just don’t loose the berries, okay Pip?” Merry inhaled deeply, arching his back as he straightened his knees and raised Pippin’s feet to his shoulders. Gritting his teeth, he held his grasp, pulling the other past the cascading form of the thicket and swiftly over the ledge. He then fell backward, his rear meeting the ground heavily as Pippin’s weight fell against him.

Pippin grinned, tugging at the pouch as it was laced about his belt, and slowly tilted his head back to meet Merry’s gaze. “Well, I don’t suppose you...” he trailed off.

“Pippin?” Merry’s voice was firm as he shifted a hand against Pippin’s back, fingers spread across the other’s shoulder blade. “Move off.”

Frowning slightly, Pippin fell to the side, moving slowly as he opened the leather tie and set a raspberry into his mouth. “Oh.”

Merry stood unsteadily, his hands pulling against his waistcoat and falling lightly again to his sides. His knees and britches were darkened by present dust, damp, and barest echo of mornings passed. He watched as Pippin settled against the sprawling root of a nearby oak, now laughing as he motioned with a lazy turn of his hand for Merry to join him.

“Well,” Merry began, taking a raspberry from Pippin’s upturned palm and shifting against the other’s shoulder, “I think you may’ve been right.”

“About what?” Pippin dashed the back of his hand across his mouth, collecting the scarlet juice that had dotted there.

Shaking his head, Merry leaned forward, his lips brushing against Pippin’s with a graceful assurance. The airy, saccharine flavor of raspberries and the tang of luncheon pipe-weed grazed across his tongue as Pippin set a hand lightly to his own. “The finest I’ve ever had,” he said as they at last parted.

Pippin nodded, moving against the dark folds of the trunk and setting another berry to his mouth. “Thank you, Merry,” he chuckled, eyes alight.


End file.
